An Idle Mind is the Devil's Playground
by Kefalion
Summary: Falling into a different world, Harry Potter and Voldemort are the only magical beings around. At first Voldemort as always wants Harry dead, he changes his mind however as boredom begins to take root. At that stage he decides that he'd rather have the other wizard around, and he will get that which he wants. Slash Harry/Voldemort


I'm a proud member of the Voldemort/Harry (Harrymort slash / LVHP) facebook group. If you've clicked on this story, I suppose you like the pairing, and so you might enjoy being part of the group too. An event was created where we give each other a small story or some fanart for Christmas, Secret Santa style. The lucky one is (because of course getting a gift from me is great *humble, oh so humble* - I blame my attitude on Voldemort) wish list looked like this: _HPLV or Tomharry is okay. Something fluffy preferably but smut is also ok :3_

So in short, this is the story I'm gifting. It's rather AU, because that's the only way I know how to put these two together and still keep it somewhat believable. Also, I used a first line generator to get me started, so I don't actually own the first fourteen words any more than I own Harry Potter.

Merry Christmas to you, Kate! You gave me a lot of freedom with your wish, so hopefully you like where it ended up. My greatest flaw when it comes to writing might be that I spend too much time on exposition. The requested fluff will show up a bit into the story. Enjoy!

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 **An Idle Mind is the Devil's Playground  
** _Words: 5 064_

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He realised that the child had seen him and he couldn't let him get away—although calling him a child was probably unfair; old habits die hard. "Potter!" he called, hurrying after the young man at as dignified a half-run as he could.

"Leave me alone!" Potter called back over his shoulder as he moved through the crowd of Christmas shoppers.

"I only wish to talk!"

"Well, I don't, so stop following me!"

Their shouting was drawing stares, not that he cared much. Let them stare. The attention of the Muggles was the only thing keeping Potter from apparating away and disappearing out of his grasp once more. Albeit, the Muggles also made him refrain from drawing his wand and forcing the brat to act according to his will.

Letting out a small frustrated sound, he quickened his pace, his long legs carrying him forward. His height and powerful presence made people move out of the way for him where they would not for Potter who scurried, leant forward, making him appear shorter than he was.

He was closing in. A Muggle woman with too many bags to be sensible and two young children clinging on to her coat tails blocked Potter's path and the delay allowed him to reach the wizard. He grabbed Potter's shoulder, gloved fingers digging through the heavy, black fabric of his coat. The younger man spun around and he felt the tip of a wand sticking into his chest. They were at a standstill, faces inches apart, both panting hard. White mist filled the air between them, fogging up Potter's familiar, round glasses.

"Are you going to kill me?" he asked, darkly amused with the wand that was aimed against him. He knew it wouldn't happen. He knew it as surely as he knew that the sky was blue and water was wet.

"I should," replied Potter through clenched teeth. People were moving on either side of them, some huffing in irritation because they blocked the street. It was inconsequential. Every person on the planet except the one man standing in front of him, glaring at him from under a fringe of dark hair, was unimportant.

"I only wish to talk," he said anew.

"Yeah? And why should I listen?"

"I have not tried to kill you in four years."

Potter huffed out a disbelieving laugh. "So I should just forget about the twenty odd years before that, when killing me was one of your top priorities?"

"Yes."

"You're mad."

Not long ago, the insult would have set him off, and it stirred up anger in him, but it was manageable and possible to ignore in face of the bigger goal. He would not allow himself to be riled up. Failure was not acceptable.

"We are the only people with magic in this world; I find that I'd rather have you alive."

"Is that so? Being the president or king or _almighty shadow leader_ of the United Kingdom or whatever it is you call yourself, isn't enough for you?"

"Muggles," he bit out the world, hating what it represented as much as ever, "are the mindless rabble I always thought them to be. A world without wizards presents little challenge."

Potter blinked at him. Slow movement of lids with fluttering lashes. "You're bored," said the younger wizard, voice rising in pitch at the end. He would not agree verbally, but it was true.

Since he and Potter had ended up in this parallel world things had changed, and with time, he had grown bored.

It had been on the eve of the battle that was to be the final one fought over the wizarding world. They had moved through the many empty rooms and corridors of Hogwarts, duelling, Killing Curses and simple defensive spells being exchanged. Neither one of them had had anything to lose at that point. Potter was fighting for his life, and so was he. All his horcruxes had been destroyed. He'd been angry and afraid as the boy gloated and told him to feel some remorse. In his anger he had lashed out with his magic and when the energy mingled with Potter's defence and the magic of the castle something unthinkable had happened.

They had been torn away from the only place either of them had ever called home and as it turned out, moving to from one universe to another had pulled the departed parts of his souls along, and upon arrival they'd been forcefully combined with the whole again, changing him irrevocably.

As he'd lain, screaming in pain as his fractured soul was clubbed together and his body morphed to reflect the change, Potter had disappeared under his invisibility cloak, evading him. Once he was coherent again he had asked himself why Potter had not tried to kill him while he was vulnerable. It would have been a perfect opportunity. However, he'd not spent much time worrying about why he was alive, too occupied with the idea of not returning the favour.

Finding Potter to kill him once and for all had been easier said than done. As he looked for the boy, raving, angry and murderous and so much more emotional than he'd been in years, he had discovered their shared predicament. Every trace of magic not induced by either of them was gone: Hogwarts, the Ministry, all magical creatures and all magical plants. All of it gone as if it had never been there.

He became less preoccupied with thinking about Potter when the realisation hit him and more interested in setting himself up in a position of power and comfort. In a world with no magical opposition it had been easy. Waltzing into parliament and putting the Imperious Curse on a few key people gave him all the power he would ever need.

For the first couple of years he had used that power to put up a manhunt for Potter and to research a way to return to the world he had left behind. Both objectives had eluded him. Over time his priorities had shifted. He had stopped caring about returning to a place he didn't truly care about; he had stopped hunting the boy and he had gotten to work, trying to create the world he wanted.

It was hard work. It was tedious work. It was never ending work.

As Potter had remarked: he had grown bored. There was no challenge. He could make people do whatever he liked; they had no defences. When you are on a level so far above everyone else it starts to get pointless. Playing games with the rulers of the world, inducing violence, changing things... It entertained him for some time; yet he found himself craving more and that was why he had once more started looking for Harry Potter.

Potter, for all that he was an imbecile and a child who blindly followed the 'great' Dumbledore's every command, had managed to oppose him. Finding the boy was even more difficult than predicted. The people under his command couldn't do it—unsurprising. Magic wasn't working—frustrating and thrilling. Luck seemed to have done it at last and he would not let go now. He could sense Potter's magic, a spark erupting from the man's wand as he lost control over his emotions. Glorious. He had missed it.

"Come to dinner with me," he said.

Potter blinked some more. He hoped that the boy would stop being so stupid, otherwise he would have to find something else to entertain him; the thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"Excuse me?" the younger wizard said.

"I'm asking you to come to dinner with me."

"I heard it, but I don't understand."

"We go to a restaurant, we order food, and we eat it. What's not to understand?"

"All of it? How bored are you?"

He didn't appreciate being reminded of it. "Will you accept, Potter?" he asked impatiently.

"Are you giving me a choice?"

– An Idle Mind is the Devil's Playground –

Harry was certain that he had lost his mind at last. There was no other explanation. If he was sane he wouldn't be sitting by a table in one of the fanciest restaurants he'd ever seen, dressed in suit and tie, waiting for Voldemort to join him for dinner.

Life hadn't been uncomplicated over the past seven years since he and the Dark Lord fell into a different reality, but it had been calmer and more ordinary than anything Harry had experienced since learning about magic. He'd hid himself as best he could, and after spending so many months on the run, he could do it well. Living in isolation was not something he did well though, and when he'd at last admitted defeat, admitted to himself that he didn't know how to get back home, he had set out to join the world he was now in.

Voldemort had been quieter than expected. Watching the news had told him that the man basically ran the world from the British Parliament, but the world was none the wiser. Harry ended up regretting that he hadn't killed the wizard when he had the chance, when death sentences, public executions and torture became legalized. Yet he had could only watch in awe as the world became a better place for all those who followed the letter of law. It would take time, but the consensus was that war, world hunger and poverty would be ended during their lifetime. Voldemort was responsible for that. Voldemort was responsible for changing the world, making it a better place.

That was why he hadn't sent a spell into the man's gut. That was why he had agreed to this dinner. That was why he sat there, the day before Christmas Eve, his hands fidgeting with the napkin in his lap. It was insane though. Undoubtedly insane.

"I am sorry if I kept you waiting." And there he was, Voldemort in all his glory; looking more like the Tom Riddle Harry had seen in pensive memories and as a shade brought forward by a horcrux than the dark wizard who had tried to kill him. Stupidly immaculate hair, normal if dark eyes, a muggle suit too fancy for Harry to be able to afford as much as the buttons.

"Don't worry about it," he said stiffly.

The man sat down across from him at the table, with was placed in a secluded area of the establishment. He sat primly, yet managed to make it look completely relaxed, hands resting lightly on the edge of the table.

"Would you prefer to peruse the menu or would you rather allow the chef to surprise us?"

Oh, but Harry was so out of his depth. How many times had he eaten at a place where you were served to begin with? He could probably count them with the fingers of one hand.

"Let the chef decide?" It wasn't meant to come out like a question, but he wasn't confident enough to keep his tone from tilting up at the end. "He's supposed to know food after all," he added, trying to salvage his reply.

"Indeed," Voldemort replied, sitting there calmly, looking at him almost without blinking. It was a bit unnerving. Harry wasn't sure the wizard wasn't actually planning on killing him, despite most things pointing at the contrary.

A waiter came up to them, Voldemort told him as per Harry's request, to let the chef surprise them, and that the wine should be chosen with care by the staff to go with the food. Once the servile man was gone the two wizards sat there in silence, looking at each other.

The tension was thick enough to be cut with a knife and Harry squirmed in place. Nothing in his life had prepared him for this. He'd not been much prepared for fighting Voldemort, but he had expected that, he'd been able to prepare mentally. This situation was just, insane. Yeah, insane still worked.

"Why did you ask me to come here?" he asked at long last. He couldn't take the silence anymore.

"I wanted to," Voldemort answered.

"Is that all you'll tell me?"

"It is the truth."

Harry's hand was turning to a fist, short cut fingernails digging into his palm. "Why do you want to eat dinner with me? Was I really right when I said that you were bored?"

"You are the only wizard aside from me in this world."

Harry waited for a continuation of the statement. It didn't come. "Is this about blood then? Still the same old thing? Wizards are better than Muggles? If you'll recall, your father-"

"Don't." The word wasn't delivered in a raised voice. It wasn't accompanied by slight hissing. There was no wand in sight. Yet the command was cutting and made Harry flinch. "Do not speak of that man, not when we're enjoying such a lovely time together."

There was a lot Harry could say to that. Lovely was not a word he'd use to describe what was going on, but he had to admit that talking with Voldemort about Tom Riddle Sr. probably wasn't a good idea.

This first exchange set the tone for the rest of the dinner. Not much was said, and what little was said was delivered stiffly or awkwardly from Harry's side and with either completely emotionlessly from Voldemort or with quiet fury.

That was why Harry was very surprised with the Dark Lord's parting words. "Join me again on New Year's Eve."

"Excuse me?" He had plans. He'd managed to get friends. He would spend both the Christmas Day and New Year's Eve with them. "I can't," he said.

"Change your plans."

"Why? Neither of us enjoyed tonight."

"Don't presume to tell me what I enjoy."

"Okay." Well, insane was only getting more appropriate. "So you want to spend time with me on New Year's Eve?"

"That is what I said."

"Uh-huh."

"There is a gala held at Buckingham Palace, if you… Your _friends_ are invited too." Without saying anything else, the man swept away from the room and Harry sat there, with their empty glasses, wondering if he should move to a different country and start afresh or deal with the new brand of insane the Dark Lord was dishing out.

– An Idle Mind is the Devil's Playground –

He half by half expected Potter to not show up. Half by half he hoped Potter wouldn't. It would give him a reason to be angry. His anger would give him a reason not to dwell on that it was his birthday and that the weather was just as bad as the day he had been born. Not that there was anyone telling him _happy birthday_. No one knew; which was the way he wanted it. Spending time with aristocrats, rich, insipid idiots and other Muggles who thought they were something was not his idea of a good way to say goodbye to the year that had passed, but it was expected of him and it was a testimony to the power he had, something that was acceptably pleasant.

The half of him that wanted Harry Potter to be there grew more and more impatient as the clock crawled towards nine. The wizard had skipped the dinner. It was acceptable. The invitation he'd sent over to Potter's residence, having found it at last, had said that he could chose to join the party for dinner or afterwards. An attempt at a formal reply had been returned, saying that Potter would arrive closer to the strike of midnight rather than sit through dinner.

He smiled at one of the ministers who were working under him and her husband, playing the game. He'd started out with violence. It was what he knew, what he had used for the last several years, both before and after his first failed attempt at Potter's life. After a couple of years with complete control through magic and violence he'd decided to change things. He'd tried becoming the politician old Slughorn had expected him to be. The game of manipulation was as enjoyable as outright displays of power. After yet more time as his reach spread outside the United Kingdom he'd had to use force again. Some people around the world would not listen to diplomacy, would not respect finely tuned words. Some only respected power over life and death. Now he could play both sides of the game, only having to step onto different scenes to do so. The mix had kept him entertained for some time and yet it hadn't been enough. Magic. Magic was the only worthwhile pursuit, the only worthwhile opposition and entertainment. That's why he'd become so determined to make Potter a part of his life.

"Happy Birthday, Tom!"

The Champagne Glass in his hand cracked as his fingers clenched. Maybe he should rethink having Potter around.

– An Idle Mind is the Devil's Playground –

Harry wasn't sure how it had happened exactly. The 31st of December had been nearly as much of a disaster as the 23rd, though this time it was probably his fault more than Voldemort's. Calling him Tom had been a low blow, and bringing up his birthday in front of important people hadn't been the least bit appreciated. Yet, as the New Year began he had found himself in the company of Voldemort regularly once a week. Always on Tuesdays. The first two Tuesdays were as miserable as the first two meeting and Harry had unsuccessfully tried to escape when the man had tracked him down at lunch. It appeared as if a determined Voldemort was very difficult to get rid off once he'd begun to get a hold.

Things began to change on their third meeting. As he knew that he would have to been in the dark wizard's company for the next two hours or so Harry stopped going out of his way to be antagonizing, instead trying something different. He asked Voldemort about the way he was running the world, and the man did answer after a bit of cajoling and as he began to speak, something Harry had not expected happened. He started enjoying himself. Voldemort wasn't pleasant, that wasn't it, but he was good at explaining how things worked. Reluctantly the once Gryffindor had to accept that if Dumbledore had given him a chance, the young Tom Riddle might have made a decent teacher.

Despite actually beginning to enjoy spending time with the man, Harry was a bit taken aback as he got up to leave the place where they'd had lunch. "I'll see you in two weeks," he said.

Voldemort looked at him impassively. "No," he said. "We will meet again next Tuesday."

Harry frowned. "Do you know what date it is that day?"

"The fourteenth of February."

"The fourteenth of February is Valentine's Day."

"I am aware."

"And that doesn't bother you?"

"Should it? Muggle holidays do not matter. Until next week, Potter."

– An Idle Mind is the Devil's Playground –

Muggle holidays did not matter. Not at all. Yet, Potter bringing it up, as if it was inappropriate for them to meet on the day of Saint Valentine had stirred up some thoughts. Love. That's what that old fool Dumbledore had preached, that's what the obnoxious transfiguration professor had said was the _power_ Harry Potter possessed which would end up being his downfall. The day of Saint Valentine was used to celebrate that one emotion, that emotion which made reasonably intelligent human beings behave like utter fools. What a thing to celebrate! Reason should be celebrated, not the lack of it.

Despite his misgivings, he found himself entertaining the thought of doing something unexpected on the day. It could bring some change to life, to help abate his boredom, which after all was one of his main reasons for bothering with Potter in the first place.

– An Idle Mind is the Devil's Playground –

Harry stepped into the small, homely restaurant where he usually ate lunch, and where Voldemort had taken a habit of joining him. As he walked inside he wondered if he'd gotten the wrong place. It looked little like the place he'd eaten at only the day before. Gone were the heavy wooden tables, with the booths in red leather and the metal chairs that made your back ache after only spending ten minutes sitting on them. Instead the room looked like Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop the day he'd brought Cho Chang there. Harry remained in the door, wondering if he'd stepped right into a nightmare. The appearance of Voldemort more or less confirmed it. The man got up from the table where he'd been seated and came to stand in front of Harry.

"What have you done?" Harry asked completely horrified.

The dark wizard smiled innocently. With that young, handsome face, he managed to pull it off too. "Do you not like it?" Voldemort asked as if he wasn't cackling with glee at Harry's discomfort on the inside.

"No." Harry wouldn't lie about that for any reason. He cautiously took a couple of steps further inside the room. There were no other guests there. Just the two of them and the tacky décor with more pink than could be healthy and enough lacy doilies to put an army of grandmas to work for years. "Why have you done this?"

"It's Valentine's Day."

"So what does this mean? Are you asking me out or something?"

"Would you like it if I did, Harry?"

The question caught him completely off guard. He had been the one to bring it up, he should have expected something like that in return, yet he had not. Voldemort was a lot more complicated than he had thought the man would be. It might help having a full soul. Or more of a full soul. He wasn't so stupid that he didn't know the horcruxes had become a whole when they fell into this reality. Nor was he stupid enough to presume that Voldemort hadn't made a new Horcrux since, but probably not more than one. He was more complex because he was what appeared to be a good leader, and when he wanted to be, he could be company. Regarding Voldemort now, as a person asking him out, all Harry could focus on was how stupidly handsome he was. The smug grin that was spreading over his face wasn't detracting from it at all. Harry was blushing, he knew that.

"You called me Harry," he said.

"I am aware."

"It's the first time you've done that since…. Well, this began." He waved around vaguely, trying to show that he meant since this strange arrangement had started. "It's always been either a full Harry Potter or just Potter with you."

"Yes, I thought it might be time for a change."

"Are you asking me out?" he asked again.

The response was a smile and a held out hand. "Join me."

Harry's knee jerk response was to say a defiant _never_ , but he wasn't asked to join Voldemort's ranks, he was asked to join a handsome man, someone who might be turning into a friend, for lunch on Valentine. He took the offered hand.

– An Idle Mind is the Devil's Playground –

He smiled, genuinely. He was enjoying this. He had thought that it would all be just another game, a play he put on, but Potter made things interesting. He looked so delightfully horrified at what he'd done with the restaurant, and then so conflicted as he battled with love's simpler cousin; lust. "Join me," he said and offered his hand. He was certain the gesture would be accepted and he was not disappointed. But what happened next he had not anticipated. It felt like coming home.

Potter let out a small "oh" as their magic mingled.

He had felt the young wizard's magic every moment they were in close proximity, much more sensitive to it than he had been in the old world, but in this world devoid of magic, every slimmer of it felt magnified. Despite that he had not thought that physical contact would make such difference. It felt like an explosion of warmth and _rightness._ He'd never felt anything quite like it. It felt like discovering that he was Slytherin's heir. It felt like time spent at Hogwarts. It felt like exploring magic no one had touched for centuries. It felt like victory. He knew for sure now that he would never let Potter go.

– An Idle Mind is the Devil's Playground –

Spring went by in a daze for Harry. Everything had changed after Valentine's Day. Lunch with Voldemort wasn't reserved for every Tuesday; it happened every day. As did breakfast and dinner in the man's company. He couldn't make himself protest or resist either. The feeling that exploded in him when their fingers touched was too great. They continued talking, getting to know each other. They clashed on much, it was inevitable, but Harry was swayed on some points and Voldemort had agreed with him on a few things too.

They had discussed the magic at work at length and had concluded that it had something to do with the connection they had shared. Harry had been Voldemort's horcrux and Voldemort had gained a new body with Harry's blood. It connected them in ways no wizards before them had ever been.

It was… Harry didn't know what to call what it was between them. Love it was not. Friendship was a strange word for it too. What he had with Voldemort was nothing like what he'd shared with Ron and Hermione back in the wizarding world, nor was it anything like what he had with the Muggle friends he'd made here. Saying that it was sexual wouldn't be accurate either. They'd done nothing but hold hands and while that was intimate in how the contact made their magic mingle, it wasn't exactly something to gossip about. But as time passed he found himself wishing that what they did would be worth telling saucy tales about. Imagining sex fuelled by their connection had fuelled many fantasies for him. As had Voldemort himself. His dry and often cruel wit and intelligence were as attractive as his face. Harry was falling. He had never imagined that it could happen. Falling for blasted You-Know-Who. But it was happening.

As spring turned to summer, he felt more and more sexually frustrated and he didn't know how to act on the need to do more than hold Voldemort's hand. Even if he was well on his way to falling in love with the Dark Lord, and deep in lust with him, his feelings wouldn't be requited. He knew better than to hope for that.

– An Idle Mind is the Devil's Playground –

It had become Christmas again. He could look back at the year that had passed and feel content. He had gotten what he wanted. He was spending most of his time with Harry and he had yet to grow bored. Talk of politics and ideology was mixed with talk of magic and how they could use it jointly to change the world. They had travelled. They had spent quiet moments together, only feeling the magic that swirled between them and they had spent quiet moments together without the magic set free. Those quiet moments without magic had as of late taken a turn to feel as magical as when there was true magic to speak of. He couldn't say why and he suspected that he'd prefer not knowing, which was a rare thing.

That he enjoyed Harry's company was the only reason he'd agreed to be dragged out into the bustling streets to do Christmas shopping. Harry had insisted. He didn't have anyone he needed to buy gifts for, but Harry did, and refusing to come along would mean less time spent with him.

He bore with it, choosing not to get angry at the crowd and instead look at the joy in Harry's eyes. He chose not to let loud, repetitive Christmas music get on his nerves, listing to Harry prattle on to about whatever he wished instead, allowing himself to be soothed by the wizard's voice. He chose black coffee instead of the overly sweet hot chocolate that was to be had. There was only so much he could take.

"This is nice," Harry said with a smile as he warmed his hands around the paper mug with hot chocolate, his upper lip stained by the beverage. If you liked Christmas, it was indeed nice. The crowd had dwindled down as most shops closed for the night. A few families and couples were still roaming the streets. A light snowfall was filling the air. They were walking close together, as if pulled together by an invisible force. Houses that the passed were decorated; glittering lamps and garlands of green, gold and red were hanging across the street. They'd passed more Christmas trees than he cared to count. Yes, if you liked Christmas, this was nice.

Harry stopped suddenly, grabbing his coat sleeve to make him do the same. There was a blush in his cheeks that had nothing to do with the cold. His green gaze flickered. Up and down to him. Up and down to his lips. "Mistletoe," Harry explained and pointed up. There was a bundle of mistletoe hanging above their heads. "I understand if you don't want to bother with it, silly Muggle-tradition and all."

"It's not a Muggle-tradition," he said.

"Wha-"

He didn't allow Harry to say the full word, leaning forward and kissing those chocolate stained lips. If holding hands had set their magic free, then the English language needed a trove of new words to describe the sensations set aflame with thr kiss. This wasn't just like coming home, it was _life_. It was pure, unadulterated magic. It was essence of _Harry_. Lips were moving together. Paper cups were being dropped and hands placed around necks and waists. Oxygen was running low. He needed a spell to make breathing dispensable. He didn't know one atop his head, so he had to pull away.

Harry looked good enough to eat. Delectable and all his. He'd seen the lust for a long time. The love he had not. Now he might actually recognize it, because he might actually know it.

"Happy Christmas, Harry."

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– The End –

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[Last Edited July 2016]


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